


Souls In Arms

by eyemeohmy



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Reality-esque, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Sexuality, gen - Freeform, more to come later - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small series of short TFP!Jetfire/Ratchet ficlets written to lovely pieces of artwork. Ranges between gen and slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentioning it here: the title of this collection, Souls In Arms, plays off the phrase, "soldiers/comrades in arms". Only Ratchet and Jetfire aren't so much soldiers as relatively kindred spirits, in a way.
> 
> In no particular order, I decided to go with this fic first. I'll be posting the others throughout the next couple of weeks.
> 
> The accompanying art piece that inspired this story can be seen [here](http://tench.tumblr.com/post/11649084417/oh-my-you-should-stay-away-from-your-exes) and is by the artist Tench, who... pretty much did all the pieces you'll see herein. Oh, and rest assured: she is very much aware of these ficlets and I highly doubt she minds I share them off Tumblr as long as I credit her wonderful art. ;)

“If I had a shanix for every idiotic soldier with a death wish on their head walking into my medbay half-functional and torn to slag after doing something incredibly stupid, I’d have me a nice flat in the Towers with a lifetime supply of high grade at my side.”

Jetfire blinked and watched Ratchet as he shoved over a table of instruments. The medic was fussing over the jet's wound: a gaping hole in his chestplates, the metal torn nearly clean off and hanging by the seam. Azure blue coolant pooled around the wound, streaking down the front of Jetfire's chassis. Yet if anyone was frustrated with the damn thing, it was Ratchet.

“Well,” Ratchet added a second later, gathering antiseptic tissue, “I would if the Towers were still standing and not a pile of rubble.”

“Oh, I didn’t come here for help. No offense,” Jetfire reassured, raising his hands. “I can take care of—”

“You couldn’t patch this sucker up even if you tried,” the medic interjected angrily. “I’ve heard this story before. Big, stubborn Autobots all high on adrenaline and ego, thinking this’ll make one Pit of a battle scar, end up rejecting treatment and later I’m having to scoop infected rust from their blasted chassis.” He shoved himself forward, against the taller Autobot.

Jetfire lowered his hands, torn between leaving and accepting the medic’s service. “I just… Well, don’t want to inconvenience you—”

“You all ready did when you decided to catch up and have a little chat with that sadistic moron, Starscream,” Ratchet growled. “Besides, it’s my job. I just wish you lot would make it a little easier and give me some vacation time.” He quickly wiped away the drying coolant. “Now, let’s see the extent of your damage…”

Ratchet carefully pried back the plate of armor. It didn’t seem to hurt Jetfire, or perhaps his pain receptors had been disabled. He looked almost curious now, but Ratchet chalked it up to some morbid interest. Nonetheless, when the plate was lifted back, Ratchet’s head recoiled with a surprised blanch. “He did a bigger number on you than I initially expected,” he scowled. “Primus sakes…”

“Oh,” Jetfire cleared his throat, “bit not good then?”

Ratchet snorted in response. He gathered a few tools, went to cleaning out the wound before tending to the more critical damage. A few heavy claw marks, but easy to repair. They went in rather deep, however; the lining of the steel walls were scratched up, but they were all superficial. “Give me about a groon,” the medic grumbled, straining optic x-ray laser into the wound, “and you’ll be as good as new and just as stupid as before.”

Jetfire chuckled softly. Ratchet looked up from his prodding, grumbled, “What? Does this amuse you or something?” What a masochist.

“No, no,” the jet reassured with his crooked grin. His face was tender, friendly - naive in a way. Ratchet couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for chewing him out. The big lug was a lost cause; too forgiving and mellow to rip a new one. Maybe that’s why Starscream hadn’t finished the job and ripped out the sap’s big ole spark. Yet, there was something else about that warm, gentle gaze that turned the edges of Ratchet’s bright blue optics a soft violet.

“It’s just,” Jetfire continued, “getting to watch the master at work. Even if I am a scientist, I was never that knowledgeable in the medical field.” He chuckled again, and his hands rested softly on the medic’s arms. Ratchet twitched, optics darting aside. “So, it’s a very exciting learning experience. You're well known for your skills among the Autobots. I trust your expertise, doctor, and feel free to continue berating me,” he laughed. “Oh, sorry, I hope that didn’t sound demean—”

“Quiet!” Ratchet snapped quickly. He cleared his vocalizer, his cheekplates burning hot. Focused intently on the wound. “Lesson number one: doctors need absolute silence to focus on their work.” And Jetfire nodded with that sugary smile still plastered on his face. Ratchet went back to business, pretending the hands on his arms were certainly not warm or soft or welcoming at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tench's art would suggest Jetfire and Starscream had a previous relationship, but I kept it more open to the reader's choice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet based on [this picture by Tench](http://tench.tumblr.com/post/13032750109/nah-i-know-none-likes-my-b-w-pictures-3).

“Come on, come on… Steady now…”

The world was spinning dizzily out of control, and Jetfire’s CPU was flaring with pain. Not a single circuit or processor wasn’t aching. He felt sick and hot all over, as if he had been drug through the Pit and back. It hurt like Hell to even move, and he knew if not for the comforting support at his side, he would have probably resigned to a fate of wasting away in the cold snow. Even with the ice flecking his chassis, he still felt too hot and Jetfire grunted as one step nearly sent him reeling.

“I said _easy now_ ,” Ratchet chided, but there was no harshness in his tone. He kept one arm around the mech’s back, the other keeping Jetfire upright with a hand to his chest. The giant flier wrapped an arm over the medic’s shoulders. Ratchet coached him another few steps, all the while speaking words of encouragement. “You’re gonna be all right, soldier,” he assured, “once I get you back to base, I’ll patch you right back up. You’ll be fine.” He ignored the warm energon running down his back from the wound in Jetfire’s arm.

Jetfire winced. His optics strained to stay open, against the cold and pain. The winter breeze was harsh, conflicting with the heat of his chassis. He shivered violently, enough to rattle the smaller Autobot helping him walk. “The… energon… You—you can’t… waste it…” he breathed, cycles hitching.

Jetfire’s predicament had all started over a battle for newly harvested energon. In the end, the Decepticons retreated empty handed, but the Autobots had not won victory without some consequences. Jetfire took the brunt of most of the fight, leaving the medic and Arcee to handle the energon and see to its delivery back to base. The Eradicons kept him more than busy, and while they were clearly outnumbered, Jetfire wasn’t about to back down. Before he even knew it, the remaining drones had fled and backup was called off.

The most troublesome issue, however, was the fact the storm was interfering with the ground bridge. Arcee was unable to come back after she dropped the energon off, leaving Ratchet and Jetfire to fend for themselves. After a static-filled comm-chat with Optimus, the bridge would be opened a half mile from their spot, outside the storm. Jetfire was low on fuel and energy, too weak to fly, so they were forced to take the long route.

Ratchet glanced up. Jetfire jumped between an Eradicon and Ratchet while the medic had his back turned. Took the blow for him. Resulted in the drone tearing away some of his facial plating, revealing circuitry beneath, now freezing. Coolant and energon bled together as it leaked from the wound.

“We’re getting closer,” Ratchet reassured. The wind howled as it pushed past them. “Just a few more—”

Jetfire grunted, suddenly falling to a knee. Ratchet held him up, to stop the rest of him from hitting the snow. “Hey, hey,” he said, patting at his chestplates, “don’t stop now. You’ve made it this far. We have to keep moving. Keep your fluids flowing and circuits from freezing up.” He chuckled bitterly. “Don’t want to die encased in ice, do you?”

The taller mech blinked tiredly at the medic. A soft smile pulled along his face. “No,” he breathed, groaning as he forced himself back on his feet, “suppose not.” He stumbled a little, swayed against Ratchet, but the Autobot caught his balance with some help.

“And the energon: we won’t be wasting it,” Ratchet added. “If it’s to repair you, of course it’s not a waste. We can’t afford to lose another soldier, or a friend.”

Jetfire was surprised at the blunt response. Ratchet wasn’t known to be so forward. Rather more quiet about the true extent of his feelings for others. Still, Jetfire knew he cared very deeply for all his comrades. Just… Well, he didn’t entirely expect that much for him. Not yet. They’d only been working together a short while now, but… If Jetfire had become as close to Ratchet in such a short period of time, then who was to say…

“Don’t space out,” Ratchet grumbled, “we’re almost there.”

Jetfire tittered. “Sorry, doctor,” he apologized. He just now noticed the medic was shivering, but not from the cold. He was pressing a lot of his weight on Ratchet. He winced and eased off, slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”

Ratchet pulled him close again. “I may not be the same sterner stuff as I was eons ago, but that doesn’t make me weak.” He snorted and walked the mech a few more feet. Just close to where a bridge would be waiting. “Though maybe you could afford to lose a few pounds.”

Jetfire laughed. Before he knew it - maybe Ratchet’s bold personality was infectious - he bent his head carefully forward, down, kissed the edge of one of the medic’s chevron-brows. Ratchet’s optics widened, and he looked shocked. “Thanks,” Jetfire crooned close to his hot cheekplate, “for putting up with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could also imagine this as Ratchet helping Jetfire from his ice tomb, but decided to go with battle scarred, hoho.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ficlet written to [this piece](http://tench.tumblr.com/post/12985461731/oh-yep-youre-my-hero-and-lifesaver-now-let-me).

There was a reason Ratchet insisted on organizing and keeping tabs on the supply room. Mostly to avoid scenarios such as this.

“Who in their right slagging mind…” Ratchet grumbled as he stared up shelves. Piled high the steel boxes of supplies he needed. Clearly out of his reach. Who decided to put the emergency equipment so high up? What logic was there to doing this? Ratchet cursed and subspaced his datapad.

He could only imagine it was Bulkhead’s doing; of all his teammates, Bulkhead was the, uh, “slowest”, and the one who wanted to get mundane work like organizing and restocking done as soon as possible. So if it meant he could just toss the boxes up without any real work or time consumed so he could run off to fight ‘Cons or play more video games, of course he’d just leave them up there to be dealt with later. Probably figured they were useless anyway; stuff of no real value beyond collecting dust in the storage closet.

Ratchet paced along the shelves. Oh, he could get Optimus to fetch the supplies. Just a little stretch of the larger mech’s arm, he’d reach them, no problem. However, Optimus was busy, and the only other Autobot in the place capable of easily gathering the perched cubes was Jetfire; he was even taller than Prime. And Ratchet wasn’t about to have someone else do something he could, even though it would take a little bit of effort.

Ratchet realized soon enough climbing was involved. The boxes were too heavy to just use a rod to push them over; their equipment too precious to risk breaking. This would mean a little difficulty climbing back down, but he’d manage. No step-ladder to be seen, but phaw, whatever. Ratchet cycled a deep gulp of air before bracing hands against the metal shelves.

With a small “hup-two”, he began the climb. Carefully, mind you. Working his way up a shelf-step with precaution. It took a few minutes before he was at the top. One small mis-step and the shelves groaned, a few objects jolting from the sudden movement. Ratchet swallowed before slowly reaching up for the first box. With some groping, he grabbed one side and began to pull.

Everything had been going fine. Ratchet now had the first box hoisted on his shoulder. This would make climbing back down a bit uneasy, but half-way down he could carefully let the box fall. It wouldn’t break anything inside from a couple feet, at least. So watching between box and his steps, he began the descent. One foot, then the next, gripping tight to the shelves and structure with his free hand.

Just a few more steps, and he could— Ratchet cursed as the box on his shoulder began to slip back. He thrust his hand to pull it back up, but the sudden jerk caused his elbow to strike the shelf. It creaked and tipped, just a few inches, but the other boxes at the very top came loose.

Ratchet widened his optics, looked up. The boxes were falling right toward him. Heavy, steely things full of precious equipment. He could fall back, but risk serious damage hitting the ground from this high up. Ratchet went to quickly step aside, uncaring of knocking over more petty objects, hoping to miss the boxes as they drew dangerously close—

Ratchet choked on a small ‘oomph’ at the tight jerk around his midsection. Then, his feet were dangling in air and when he looked up, he was being held in the arm of one white, winged mech. Jetfire quickly shoved aside the boxes, grabbing one about to clunk him in the head. Three of the boxes - including the one Ratchet had been holding - fell to the ground, hitting with loud clunks and bangs.

“Scrap!” Ratchet cursed. He glared up at Jetfire. “You know those boxes contained fragile equipment!”

“I venture so do you, doctor,” Jetfire grumbled. He was glaring right back. “What the Pit were you thinking? And you call _me_ reckless!”

“I had it under control.”

“Apparently not,” Jetfire snorted. He sighed, his frown more exasperated than upset. ”Why didn’t you just ask for my help? I could have easily flown up there - no, reached, I’m tall enough - and gotten your boxes, you know. Would have taken a klik flat.”

“I didn’t need your help,” Ratchet scowled.

“Your clumsiness begs to differ.”

“We all have our moments of hypocrisy - there, I admitted it, are you happy?” Ratchet snapped. He folded his arms over his chest, glowered at Jetfire’s disappointed gaze. “You’re my hero, you saved my life, I should have known better, now will you put me down so I can assess the damage to my equipment?”

Optimus was right. The medic could be so insufferable. Doctors made the worst patients, he knew that, and maybe if it meant risking themselves instead of others, they’d take that chance. “You promise you won’t try something stupid like this again?” he demanded.

“What sort of ultimatum is that? I say ‘no’, so you’re not going to let me down? What, you’re just going to spend your entire day and thensome holding me mid-air? _Really_?”

Jetfire sighed again. “You still should have called for me,” he insisted as he lowered himself to the ground. He kept the mech in his arm. “You don’t look hurt, so at least that’s good.”

Ratchet wiggled out of his grasp and quickly gathered the boxes. However, Jetfire easily plucked them from his hands, holding two in one arm, other on his shoulder. “Don’t want you dropping these,” Jetfire said, “might crush your foot.” Okay, now that was just gibing.

The medic ground his denta. “You break anything, that isn’t probably all ready broken, I’ll have your hide!” he snarled as they left the supply room.

“I think the stupidity quota has been filled for the day, sir.”

“ _Shut up_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure Ratchet’s stubbornness maaaay not include this, but I mean, testing a possibly unstable synthetic energon on himself pretty much confirms his occasional tendency to do stupid things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And with this drabble, we close this small collection. c:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written to [this piece](http://tench.tumblr.com/post/13943726213/pron-i-do-it-wrong-especially-with-ratchet).

It shouldn't have come as such a surprise. They hadn't exactly been very secretive with their affections. Or they were very poor at concealing them. Jetfire wore his heart on his sleeve, and his crush was obvious to the rest of the crew. Ratchet, not so much, but it was the little things that added up; once or twice, that was coincidence or just being nice, but the way he treated Jetfire a little differently than the others the few months they had gotten to know one another - "Bitten by the looove bug," Miko snickered and wiggled her eyebrows.

"You think so?" Bulkhead asked. He stroked his chin. "I dunno." Shrugged. "Ratchet doesn't seem the type interested in starting romantic relationships."

"Love hits when it wants to hit, Bulk," Miko said. "It's like a freight train and you are tied to the tracks!" She thrust a fist aside. "Even Cranky McGrumppants can't fight it."

"I still don't believe it completely." Bulkhead snickered. "I mean, even if Ratchet likes him, and vice versa, I don't think he'd do anything about it."

Miko giggled. "Yeah, Ratchet doesn't exactly come off as the smooth operator type."

"Huh? But he is."

"Wha'?"

"He's a doctor, he operates. So isn't he...?"

Miko broke out into a fit of giggles.

Across the base and in the medbay, far away from the teasing and laughing, Jetfire was pinned against the wall on his aft, with Ratchet holding him down. Kissing him with feverish passion not expected in the good doc. Jetfire wrapped his arms around him, kissed back with the same intensity.

Just a couple minutes ago, the two had been engaged in a rather excited, and very platonic, conversation. "I think I've done it!" Jetfire exclaimed, bursting into the medbay. Ratchet blinked and turned to him. The jet placed the flask of green liquid on the med berth. "Pure, 100% synthetic energon!"

"Are you positive?" Ratchet asked, surprised. He picked the flask up, watched the liquid slosh in the glass as he held it to his face. "I mean, we've had so many trials and errors, I wouldn't be surprised--"

"No, no, this is it!" Jetfire insisted. He beamed. "I ran a few tests on a couple small drones, and the results were extraordinary! In fact..." He turned, stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. Ratchet winced; Miko had taught him that. A second later, the soft clak-clak scuttling on the floor caught Ratchet's attention, and he looked down. In scampered a small drone on four legs, clicking and chirping. Jetfire scooped it up and held it out to Ratchet. "Whatta think? Test subject is reacting positively and energetic as ever!"

Ratchet frowned. He was still skeptical. He quietly gathered a small, thick ram-needle, and pricked the squeaking drone in a leg seam. It dripped energon, and the color was a soft green. Nonetheless, he tested it beneath his microscope and-- "By Primus," he whispered, standing back slowly. His optics were wide with awe. "You've... you've done it. You've completed the synthetic energon formula..."

Jetfire placed the drone back on the ground. He picked up the flask. "I'll need to run a few more tests," he said, "but I think it's safe to say we've--" He couldn't finish. Because in a second flat, he was slammed against the wall, into a sit on the cold, steel floor.

The energon in the flask splashed against his shoulder before it fell to the ground, spilling its contents in a small, green puddle. Ratchet took his face in his hands and held it tight, and Jetfire's optics bulged from their sockets as the medic pressed a hard kiss to his lips.

There was a tidal wave of emotions that washed through Jetfire, and he wasn't quite sure which was more prominent. It was a mixture of shock, happiness, love and relief. Relief, perhaps, was the more dominant force, because he had never expected this from the medic; that his love would be reciprocated. He almost felt like crying then and there, a groan escaping his lips and the medic drew back, surprised.

"I'm..." Ratchet murmured and recoiled. He looked ashamed. "I'm sorry, I--"

"No, don't," Jetfire pleaded. He grabbed Ratchet by the wrist. His optics were bright. "Don't, _please_. Just. _Stay_." He was overwhelmed. Couldn't say another word. He pulled Ratchet back into his arms and kissed and held him. Ratchet was hesitant, but only for a moment, and returned the affection. Jetfire's spark swelled with happiness, and it was so very, very hard not to take the medic then and--

Ratchet's hand sunk against his abdominal plates, pried into a seam.

Well.

The plating opened willing, and Ratchet's expert fingers groped along sensitive circuitry. Jetfire moaned, writhing against the medic. Ratchet continued kissing him around the mouth, working hands up over the taller mech's chest. Smoothing heavy but comforting circles along the heated plating and Jetfire gasped into his lips. He felt warmth from above him, and was vaguely aware Ratchet's own chestplates had shifted aside to reveal his spark chamber, a sliver open to show a peek of his bright blue spark. So enticing, it was enough for Jetfire's own plating and chamber to open and his spark protruded against the tip of the medic's wandering digits.

In the blink of an eye, their sparks were colliding. Grinding, pushing, rolling. Ratchet was heaving, grunting. Jetfire closed his big arms around him and held him down, rode up against him. The energy coursing between their bodies sent their systems reeling and processors swimming. Little electric jolts and streaks flashed between their chassis, their sparks flickering every time they touched, pulsating when the pressure applied was just right.

It was all over too soon, but it felt perfect, fulfilling. Ratchet reached overload first, a gush of energy cycling out of his system and into Jetfire's. A few more pumps and presses, and Jetfire's body finally released the pent up energy. They drew back, their chassis still quivering and their sparks slowly, sluggishly returning to their housing. They didn't move away from each other, not too far, Ratchet still straddling Jetfire's lap, and the larger mech's hands resting on Ratchet's hips.

Ratchet inhaled. "Well," he chuckled hoarsely, "I haven't had celebratory interfacing in the medbay in a very long time."

Jetfire smiled crookedly. "I'm not sorry."

"Let's not make a habit of it."

"Yeah..."

"We'll take it to the bedrooms."

Jetfire laughed.


End file.
